Forget Me Not
by Pinlicous
Summary: Chris wakes up to bright lights and a huddle of white coats. He has no idea who he is or what happened to him; the only memory he has is of blue flowers.
1. Memories on Holiday

_Forget Me Not flowers… they are beautiful. They are bluer than a summer day's sky, their very own sun nestled gently in its core. A black dot like an undilated iris peers into your soul, urging you to remember it. They have a mind of their own and they pop up wherever they so choose. But that's the fun of them, really. You never know what to expect. And you never will get rid of them._

I think I heard that somewhere, sometime ago.

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

I think I like Forget Me Not flowers because of how blue they are. They are such a pretty blue. They remind me of something close to me; someone warm?

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

I woke up in a hospital a few days ago and the man in a long, white coat with giant spectacles hanging on his nose said that I'd experience some loss of memory or time. He said I might repeat myself a few times, too, just so my brain can catch up after recovering for such a long time. He said I was out for a few months.

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

"Chris, you said that already," a soft voice almost whispers to me.

I look over to see who it was. It is the red head again. I'm not sure what her name is, I think I forgot it. If I ever had it. I must have also forgotten she was there, because she looks like she's been waiting for some form of communication for a while now.

I shake my head lightly and feign a small smile. I seem to say a lot of things out loud, too. Another symptom from my head injury. Or maybe that is who I was before all this.

"Come on, you have to eat. You're going to get sick if you don't."

She offers me a small sample of the hospital's delectable vanilla pudding via the flimsiest plastic spoon I've ever seen, but it tastes like crap. I would rather had something heavy and juicy. A steak sounds so good. Red said that I can't have any steak until I recover. She says it's doctor's orders, but I think she is about as full of crap as the vanilla pudding.

Though, I have to admit that she makes it easier to be here. When she walked into the room the first time I opened my eyes, I suddenly felt a weight lift from my chest. The lights were so bright then. I had to squint to open them, and I could barely see anything past the blurry edges and floating blobs above me, but I could hear her hurried footsteps. I remember she yelled at them to get away from me, to give me some air to breath. The doctors say I was struggling too much and they had to sedate me.

I felt groggy for the next two days.

The doctors asked me what my name and date of birth were and I couldn't remember. They had long frowns on their face and they looked at each other as if forming some conspiracy against me. The doctor with the big glasses—I call him Dr. Specs, but he says he'd rather I call him Dr. Col—was the one who told them to back away from me. He seemed to know what he was doing, so when he came into the room the other day, I sat up and listened to him attentively.

Most of what he said I couldn't remember. He repeated it again the next day, but I forgot it once again. He decided to post sticky notes on the foot of my hospital bed by the third day. I kept looking at them trying to remember, trying to make sense of what happened, but nothing stuck. Its day four now and there still isn't a lot sticking in my brain.

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

I pick up one of the sticky notes, its small adhesive strip sticking to my finger and it feels weird. It kind of grosses me out, so I wave my hand frantically trying to get the stupid yellow thing to fall off. I don't think of just pulling it off with my other hand, but my brain is pretty messed up the way it is, so I'm blaming it on that.

Amidst trying to get the sticky note off my finger, I hear a deep chuckle coming from the doorway of my hospital room. Red is off to find something hardier for me to eat, so it can't be her. I hope she doesn't have that kind of chuckle, anyway.

It is Dr. Specs. He shakes his head, causing his bulky glasses to glint slightly in the strong sun streaming through the window. I give a sheepish grin and finally find the brain cells to pull off the sticky note with my other hand.

"I don't think I'm all there, Doc," I say, looking down at my blanket-covered legs.

"It's what happens when you fall twenty feet into jagged rocks, Chris. You're lucky to be alive and functional at all," he reminds me.

I can't argue with him there, so I look back up and give him an acknowledging nod. He proceeds to explain the sticky notes, but with vague details this time. I tell him I can remember a few things now, like the rushing red water around my head. I remember that I couldn't see for a minute and that I could feel my heart pounding so fast that I could literally feel my ear drums beating against my temples. I don't tell him about my racing heart. I leave that short of intimate detail to myself, if only to keep one secret.

I look back at the sticky notes again while he explains something about my head injuries. I'm not really worried about them since I am alive. It's not like I can remember how I was before, anyway, so there is no point in worrying about who I am now. A strong emotion does pique my senses, however, when he mentions a familiar name. It's a name that has stuck with me from the very moment I recall complete, drug-free consciousness.

Red had mentioned it in my lucid spells, in between doses of Phenobarbital.

Don't ask me why I know what the hell that drug is. It's my brain, I know, but I'm sure as hell not used to it. Not anymore, anyway.

Leon is the name. Leon S. Kennedy. The way she says his name sounds like they are friends. May be we are friends, too.

She says that he found me. He apparently dragged me all the way from the edge of the lake to about fifty feet outside the forest. He must have been one hell of a built guy to be able to carry my sorry ass, considering Red's exclamations. I had "muscles on muscles," I guess. I've shed all that muscle now, though, and she says I'm back to my old self.

Except I'm not myself, because I don't know who I am.

I wanted to ask her if I could see this guy, to thank him for helping me, I just haven't had the chance to actually get a word in edge wise. If it isn't Red breathing down my neck to eat, it's Dr. Specs constantly reminding me of details I will probably never fully remember. Two other people I don't know—one for the morning and one for the afternoon—come in and stick me with needles. On one occasion I asked what they were doing out of pure curiosity and they said they had to run tests on my blood.

Somehow that made me feel really paranoid, but Red insisted I let them do their magic.

I don't think it's the needles or the blood that bothers me. I think it's the fact that they _have_ my blood and could be doing anything with it. As long as they don't stick it back in me, though, I'll live.

I think I was an overly suspicious guy before I lost my memory. I guess I still am.

Now I'm sitting in my horribly uncomfortable bed of crinkly white sheets and harder-than-a-rock pillow, straining my neck to watch a cheap television show that must have aired at least fifty times since its first release. It's one of those types of comedies that everyone laughs at just because it was recorded with added laughter in the background.

The fact that I can remember small things like that makes me kind of irked. I can't remember the really important things in my life, but hey, at least I can recite this television show's one liners until the day I die. Go brain, go…

"Chris, they are serving hamburgers today!" Red chimes in through the doorway. "Come down to the cafeteria and eat some. They have fries!"

The sing song voice she has at the mention of fries should put light into my eyes, but it doesn't. I turn my head to look at her and shrug.

I haven't gotten up from my bed for the past four days, plus the few months I was unconscious. I just don't see a point anymore. Why bother with getting up at all? It's not like I can just continue my old life. Whatever kind of life that was.

"Come on, you love fries."

She seems offended that I don't want to get up from my warm and comfortable bed and walk around an aesthetically unpleasing, giant white mass of a building. There are sick people out in the hallways doing their ritual laps around the hospital to strengthen their muscles and Red thinks she can do the same to me.

But I'm not really sick. I'm just forgetful.

At the sight of her watery blue eyes, I have to give in. She's definitely the younger sister. She has to be with that type of ammo.

My legs are stiffer than boards as my feet touch the cold, glossy floor of my room. I stifle a groan and wait out the uncomfortable feeling. The pressure on my feet is odd at first, as if I'm walking on prickly clouds, but gravity situates my body after a few moments. The feeling of all my muscles stretching makes me want to breathe deeply, but I don't. I just stand there, focusing my vision on the security camera on the wall furthest from my bed. The thing gives me another disturbing sense of lost privacy, but I let it go when I feel Red tug on my arm.

"I bet you are starving."

I think to myself that I _should_ be starving as we slowly walk down the pale hallway, toward the big grey elevators. I haven't eaten much since I woke up and the only nourishment I'd received from the time I was comatose was through a small IV line. My stomach doesn't growl and my mouth doesn't water at the thought of food. The act of sitting down in front of buffet of food sounds less appealing than getting my blood drawn and tested.

I keep going, though. Stretching my legs feels better than I thought it would and I even get Red to let me go down one flight of stairs before she thinks better of it. The rest of the way to the cafeteria is quicker when we use the elevators.

I hate that damn elevator music. It's not actually playing in the elevator, but I can hear it in the back of my skull and it drives me up the wall.

The food in the cafeteria is on par with the vanilla pudding, but no surprise there. Maybe I was a picky eater before I lost my memory. I itched to ask Red, but I had a feeling she wouldn't tell me. Dr. Specs says I should try to remember things on my own first, before someone taints the memory of it. Personal experience and all that.

Now that I am free of my lumpy bed, I feel the need to run outside and look up at the blue sky. I want to find Forget Me Not flowers, mainly. That's something I'm going to do as soon as I get out of here.

I look down at my barely touched meal and feel a pang of guilt when I notice Red's eyes on my jaw. She's making that face again, but my stomach feels like lurching out of my throat at the thought of eating.

I meet her gaze and wave my hand as if to brush the concern away.

"It's alright. I'll get my appetite back soon," I lie to her.

It's a white lie. It is. One of these days I'll get hungry and I'll eat. I'll eat a crap ton, I know I will.

Maybe.

I remember about Leon at the last second as Red gets up to throw our trays away. I hurry to catch up with her and stand next to the trash can as she carefully picks each item up one by one to throw it away. I find that kind of odd, but I can't lose my place, so I quickly clear my throat to get her attention.

"Do you think, I uh… could see Leon?"

Red's eyes widen just slightly, probably a bit surprised to hear me ask for something. A person, at that.

"Uh, I can call him. I'm not sure where he is at the moment, though."

I nod to her a bit too enthusiastically and she clearly notices. She smiles at me, a glint in her eyes.

"It's good that you want to see someone, Chris. You should keep your friends close to you, especially now. The more you're with them, the more you might remember."

Her smile is nearly twice the size from the one she gave me when I finally woke up. It makes my guilt a little more bearable and I consider asking to see this guy more often.

At least he has a name I can remember.

We both arrive at my room and she instantly retrieves her phone from her jacket that has been laid over the back of the same chair for who knows how long now. She constantly visited me while I was under and told me she thought of starting up a permanent residence in my room a few days before I woke up.

That made me really want to laugh, but I held it in for some strange reason.

"Hey, Leon. Sorry if I'm bothering you…" she paced around the room as she spoke, pausing only briefly to hear the man's reply. She broke out in a smile and shook her head. "Oh, sorry, it's Claire. Yeah!"

She turns away from me after that and lowers her voice a little.

I'm a little annoyed she won't let me listen in on her conversation, but I play nice and sit on the bed anyway. The pads of my feet reach the floor just enough for me to feel the cool temperature against them and I focus on that to give her more privacy. If I'm going to be a stickler for it, I might as well give others the same treatment.

Claire is her name, though. Claire, Claire. It's a good name for her. It fits her.

I look up just as she turns around again, phone already in her back pocket as she prepares to answer my question.

"He's actually in town!" She smiles and it makes her words sound extremely happy.

"Good."

I try to smile again, but I start to feel too tired to bother. I lie back down in bed and blanket the covers securely up to my chin.

"Wake me when he gets here, okay?" I ask her, eyes closed.

I think she replies with "no problem," but I'm fast asleep before it fully registers.

When I wake up next, a pair of blue eyes deeper than the Pacific greets me. They remind me so much of flowers, my favorite flowers, that I almost reach out from under the covers to caress them. I think better of it when I realize they are attached to a knowing smirk, a little bit of white teeth showing through.

"Geeze, you look like shit, Redfield," the man says, his smirk unwavering.

My brain takes a moment for me to realize what he says before he starts waving his hand in front of my face.

I rise from bed and stuff the comforter under my arms as I lean forward. I try to clear my throat, but it's too dry and I start to cough slightly. The man with the blue eyes reaches a fingerless gloved hand to the tastelessly pink pitcher beside my bed and pours a healthy helping into a clear plastic cup. He hands it over to me, his eyes soft as he gazes at me.

I imagined Leon to be a big gruff guy with a large beard, somewhat like a lion with a scraggly mane, but this guy was a stick in comparison. He isn't really a stick, though. He's leaner than I am, but in a way that looks athletic. I'd take him for a swimmer, if I didn't know what he really does.

On second thought, I don't really know what he does for a living. I more have a feeling of what he does. Sometimes I look at people and I just _feel_ like I know them. I don't know the words and I can't remember a damn thing about them, but I know the face. The same thing happened with Red. I didn't know who she was or what she did, but I knew she was close to me. The look in her eyes probably stuck that idea in my head.

Leon has very blue eyes.

"You gonna take the cup or am I going to have to pour it down your throat for ya?"

I feel my corners of my lips spread across my face at that comment and I nearly chuckle. I gratefully accept the offer and swallow the entire contents in three large gulps. My throat still felt dry, but the tickle of a cough had ceased.

"Thank you," I say with a surprisingly raspy voice.

I haven't heard much of it, but most times I've said anything, it always sounds different. I'm sure it has to do with how dry my throat is now, but that kind of thing doesn't really make a person feel all that great about who they are. If their voices changes from every sentence, who the hell kind of person could they be?

"You took a pretty heavy fall. Heard your head's screwed."

I nod at him slowly, not looking at him. I'm not upset by the comment, though I feel like I should. It seems rather inappropriately sarcastic at a time like this, but I feel like that must be part of his charm. He definitely has charm.

I look up at him finally after he clears his throat.

"I wanted to thank you for saving me," I tell him.

It sounded a lot less epicene in my head and now I can feel a blush creeping up my neck. First he has to save me from a watery grave and now he has to listen to me thank him like some damsel in distress. Great, Chris. Really. You're new personality is doing wonders for your manhood.

"There is no way I had muscles on muscles, Red. I mean— Claire."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Leon's chuckle catches me off guard and I realize I've said that stupid line out loud. My luck is crap. Crappier than crap. It's vanilla freaking pudding.

If my blush can get any redder, I'm sure it already has.

"Uh, nothing. Just… I mean, I could've died and I'm sure Claire would've been all alone if you hadn't saved me, so I wanted to thank you. I don't really remember who you are or if we were friends, but either way…"

I trail off after slowly losing courage to keep blabbering. This is a mistake. There is no way I'll ever have pride again. Chances are I never had it to begin with, if my current personality has anything to say about it.

All Leon does is chuckle again, but this time deep in his throat. It feels more like he couldn't help it, rather than trying to berate me. I find the audacity to look at him now and his smirk has faded into a soft smile. I can't see his teeth anymore and it makes me a little sad. They are really freaking white teeth.

His eyes stare into mine for what feels like decades. It's a comfortable amount of time, if a little short.

"I'm glad you're okay," he finally says and steps closer to me. He pats me on the shoulder, lightly at first to make sure there are no injuries, and then rougher. He lets his hand linger on my shoulder, his other balled up loosely in a fist as he places on his hip. His leg closet to me is crossed over his other and it makes him look like the coolest person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

I can't help but smile at the warmth on my shoulder and I feel okay. I feel good. I feel like I have hope to remember someone. A small glimpse of a memory crosses my mind, but it's too fast for me to see.

I let it go when I feel Leon's hand leave my shoulder.

"I would've come to see you sooner, but France was calling. Same shit, different dirt, ya know?"

I nod at him with a dorky smile because I don't really know what he means. It drops quickly from my face and Leon seems to blink for a second too long, as if saying something in his head.

"Sorry, man. Forgot."

I laugh at the next look he gives me. He keeps saying the stupidest things and it makes me laugh wholeheartedly, lungs filled, and loud. I can't stop my chest from shaking with the laughter and I don't intend to stop it as my head throws back on my crappy ass pillow.

I slowly calm down when I feel a dip in the bed, Leon's body closer to me now. His back is to my side, but he is turned slightly toward me. His smile is back again and it's a little bit more like mine now. It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one that says stupid things.

"Did, uh…" Leon starts to say, but the words seemingly get caught in his throat and he shakes his head when he can't force them. He must think twice about it because he tries again quickly after. "Have you been awake for a while? Last I heard, you were in a coma or somethin'."

I smile at the blonde male sitting just inches from me. It occurs to me now that he seems uncomfortable. He doesn't get up to move and he doesn't shy away from me, so I'm not sure it's me directly. A few thoughts tumble in my head as I try to answer him with something reassuring, but all I can think to say is the truth.

"Just four days now. The first two were pretty blurry, though. They kept me on sedation until I could finally calm down."

I feel a little embarrassed to tell him about my erratic behavior, but Leon's eyes don't waver from my face and so I take that as a sign that he understands. I keep wondering what happened to me, but the memories don't come.

"I talked to what's his face… with the glasses," he starts and I laugh. His smirk reappears for a minute and then he continues. "Said I'm not supposed to tell you what happened. Not that I really know much about it, myself, but… must suck not knowing."

I look down at my hands. I intertwined my fingers earlier without thinking.

"All I remember is almost drowning and then just straight black," I confess.

For some reason I'm not angry at him for not knowing, even though I was frustrated with both Claire and Dr. Specs for my first day of consciousness. There is something about Leon that I just don't understand. He's the one person that my head remembers, but that doesn't give me a lot of go on.

"You were pretty messed up when I found you."

Leon's voice is low and somewhat strained. I peek out from under my eyelashes to sneak a look at his face, but it is turned away. I lift my head up more to draw his attention back to me.

"I heard you drug my ass fifty feet. That true or is Claire fawning over my hero?" I tease.

A large grin plasters itself on his face and for a second I can't quite imagine ever not seeing it again. He laughs like I did just moments earlier, but he's much more stoic about it. He has this concreteness about him that draws me in. He seems so… together, so finite, so real. So safe.

I smooth my hand over the empty space on my bed to where Leon's hand is supporting himself. I don't mean to do it at first, but as I'm halfway through the action, it's too late to turn back.

Our fingertips bump softly and both of us stay silent for a long time. No eye contact is made, but the air doesn't feel tense. It feels comfortable.

I risk a look at the other man beside me and he does the same. We still don't say anything. We don't smile, we don't move our bodies. We just look at each other and understand. This is comfortable for both of us. This is right.

This is a memory I want to keep for the rest of my life, all other memories be damned.

I'm sure. This is one thing I'm sure about lately.


	2. If You Only Knew

The call comes unexpectedly and for a moment I find myself swearing beneath my breath. If I have to leave this state one more damn time, I'm going to quit this teeth-pulling job and find employment at the nearest fast food joint.

Seriously.

When I answer the phone, I know my voice is gruff, but I don't hold back.

"Kennedy speaking."

"Hey, Leon! Sorry if I'm bothering you…" the voice is somewhat chipper and all suspicion of work slides from my mind. The voice sounds odd, though. The reception in my hotel room is shit.

"May I ask who's speaking?" My voice is still clipped and obviously annoyed.

"Oh, sorry, it's Claire."

For a moment all my breath is punched out of my lungs as if a Mach 40 rammed into me at full speed. My thoughts immediately jump to Chris and suddenly I want to order Claire to put him on the phone, but I'm not even sure if he is awake.

After a moment I've calmed down enough to realize what a dick I am. I don't have time to apologize, though, and I note to save that for later. Preferably in person.

"Is he awake?"

I know I'll look back at this moment later and realize I sound more desperate than a dateless girl on prom night, but my main priority now is to get answers. I need answers.

Be awake. Be awake. Be fucking awake, Redfield.

Her voice is more hushed now and it's hard to hear between cuts in her voice. I want to throw my phone out the window, jump out the window, pull out the biggest gun I have, and blast it to pieces before bee lining it to the hospital.

"Yeah!"

I control myself enough to listen harder.

"He wants to see you."

There is a smile in her voice, I can tell. All I can feel is nerves pulsing to the end of my fingertips as my breath becomes more apparent. I shouldn't react this way, but hell if my body agrees.

"I was heading by, anyway…"

"Oh— you're in town?"

She sounds a little more surprised than I'd have thought. How much credit does she give me, anyway? I'm not one to up and leave someone behind without a damn good reason. She should be able to attest to that.

"Yeah, just got in, actually," I say with a lighter tone. It's a blatant lie and I'm sure she'll hound me for it later.

Truth is I've been in town for weeks now. I boarded a plane from France straight to New York the day I was able to come back. I hadn't thought past that brilliant plan and apparently I still don't have a clue on what to do next.

"You sure he wants to see me? He specifically asked to see me?"

"Leon, you're the only person he remembers. Your name sticks out to him and I think it'd be a good idea if you stopped by. You could possibly jog some memories…"

I had heard from her about Chris' memory loss through text. That's one hell of a way to break it to someone, but it's the best we could manage. France was a bitch and a half compared to Spain. The sights were nice, I guess.

The fact that Chris remembers my name is huge, even I can't deny that. The whole situation before the waterfall, though… that's not exactly a topic worth mentioning.

"I'll be over in fifteen," I finally say.

I hang up the phone without bothering to say goodbye, too much in a hurry. I grab my leather jacket and speed out the door. I can't even remember if I locked the damn door by the time I'm out of the front entrance and one foot in a taxi cap. I'm half tempted to throw a thousand at the driver and demand him to blow every red light on the way there, but if Chris ever found out, I'd be buried in guilt ridden stare downs for the rest of my existence.

This kind of attitude isn't like me and the strange feeling bubbles up inside my stomach without remorse. I'm just too freaking nervous. I haven't seen Chris since I pulled him out of the coldest water possible. He was ice cold by the time I got to him. No breaths.

I panicked so badly I forgot CPR and just started sucking his face as if it'd do some freaking good. I shake that thought out of my head quickly. I don't want to go back there. I never want to see that sickly look on his face again.

Bolting out of the cab, I throw a hundred into the front seat and murmur "thanks" to the driver. I know he's got it tough and I feel like an ass, but I don't care.

The hospital is a familiar sight and I cringe a little when I think about how many times I've been here in the past week. Embarrassment or guilt, I don't know which is stronger, kept me from walking through the double doors I'm currently swinging wide open. Among many other failed plans, I imagined casually walking up to the front desk, flirting with the nurse to allow me access to Chris' room. Athat is past me as I slam my hands on the counter. I'm nearly out of breath as I form a noncurrent sentence at the nurse. She gives me an odd look, but I feel like she's had this type of reaction before, because she smiles and asks me which patient I need to see.

"Redfield—Chris."

I'm one minute late by the time I reach the top of the second floor and that only drives me harder to reach him quicker. My breath is completely wasted when I reach the first floor, but it doesn't stop me from quickly sliding open the door to his room. Why the hell didn't I come to see him sooner?

He's asleep. His blanket is stuffed under his chin and it makes him look like such a baby. He has a hint of a five o' clock shadow, much lighter from the last time I saw him. He looks good and it makes my shoulders slump with released tension. His breath is soft and nearly inaudible between the light beeps of machines beside his bed. He looks like he's in it deep and it almost makes me want to run over to his bed and shake him. What if he's still under? What if he just happened to relapse?

No, I'm just freaking out. That's all. No big deal.

He must sense my presence in the room, because his eyes slowly flutter open, strong dark eyelashes hiding the green of his eyes. He finally focuses on me when he regains consciousness and I greet him with a sarcastic remark. He doesn't seem to understand what I say, so I wave my hand in front of his face to call his attention.

He sits up without saying anything and for a minute I feel like I said the worst thing possible. The smirk is still strong on my face, though, because that's what he'd expect. Or the old him would have expected.

I hand him some water as he begins to cough and he seems even more clueless. I throw in another joke and this time he laughs. I can feel my face smooth into a softer smile and he seems to approve of the site. It makes my heart ache to see his face so free of pain.

Before I think to stop myself, I find myself sitting on his bed with my hands close to his body. I wonder what gave me the balls to do so, but I don't think of it any more than that, because his face is bright with a smile.

I'm happy to feel that his skin is warm and soft next to my fingers when all is said and done. We are starring at each other now with easy gazes. It's a comfortable silence and, for once since just before he went down, we feel right again.

I don't think he notices how fast my heart is beating at this point and I praise any god out there for that.

Claire stumbles into a chair on her way in the door and both of us retract our hands as if we've touched fire.

"Sorry…" she says through clenched teeth.

I can't tell whether her face is twisted like that because she stubbed her toe or because she walked in on one of the more intimate moments she's seen us share. I throw a glance over to Chris before pushing myself up from his hospital bed. I hope he finds it reassuring, but I don't look long enough to find out.

"It's cool. I was leaving anyway."

"But you just got here!"

I know she's trying to keep me around for Chris' sake, but if she knew better, she'd know we're better off separate.

"There is always tomorrow," Chris says from behind me, a hopeful tone that makes me relax. So he did get the glance. Good.

"Tomorrow sounds like a plan," I twist on my planted feet and give him a thumbs up accompanied by the best smirk I can handle. His lips turn up instantly and my mind is blown at how happy he looks. "Can I talk to you outside, Claire?"

Claire blinks a few times before looking between Chris and me, but nods soon after. We both silently part from the room.

"Has he remembered anything else?" I ask as soon as the door is closed.

"I've heard him mumble about flowers in his sleep, but that's it."

Flowers? What kind of flowers…

"I didn't take him for a florist."

Claire gives me one of those looks that should frighten me, but it's all par for the course with us. If I didn't make cracks at the beast, who would? Barry sure as hell doesn't know a good joke from his ass. I guess I can't really call Chris a beast anymore, either. He's slimmed down so much in such a short time…

Which begs the question, "Is he eating?"

Claire looks me straight in the eye and shakes her head slowly. Her red pony tail sways back and forth before falling over her neck as she looks down at the floor.

"I tried to get him to eat something earlier, but he barely took a bite before pushing the tray away. I don't know exactly how to get him to eat, either."

"Have you tried steak?"

Claire's head jolts up and a huge smile is on her face when she looks at me.

"You two are seriously made for each other, you know that?"

I flinch at the statement, but thankfully she doesn't notice.

"Great minds think alike," I fake a small huff of laughter at the poor joke, searching for a change of subject. "I'll take us out to dinner. Maybe getting out of this sad excuse of a sick den will get his appetite back."

"I mean, you can take my words literally if you want, but hey," she says with her hands up in front of her chest. She's had better jokes. Unless she meant to insinuate something about the moment earlier, in which case I don't want to think about it.

"Ha-ha. You're a comedic genius."

The shit ton of sarcasm in that simple statement makes us both shake our heads for a minute before breaking out in a smile. Claire is a good person to have around and I'm glad she was there for Chris when I couldn't be. Even if the old Chris would've wanted me ten feet away from him at all times.

I know she's trying to lighten the tense mood and I feel for her. She must have it tough with Chris' memory loss. It's never easy to see someone of importance struggle. Unfortunately, all of us know how that feels.

I met Chris on his brief vacation from the air force. I suppose I technically met Claire first at Racoon City's Kendo Gun Shop and she introduced used later. I had seen him in the police academy once or twice, chatting with some other guys on the force before hand.

Whether she had a taste for weapons or not, she was definitely interested in chatting with the shopkeeper.

I have to admit that, before now, I hadn't really thought about how odd Claire was. I mean, everyone's a little weird and that's not to say that Claire is demented or anything, but she does have a few glaring oddities.

The day I met her she was talking almost nonstop to the overweight gun enthusiast behind the counter. She wasn't being flirtatious so I didn't assume she was trying to get a good deal. I think she genuinely just wanted to talk with the guy. But she was _really_ into talking to him as if they'd been friends for decades and she was finally catching up with him.

I would have sworn she had known him for that long if not for his awkward comment after she left.

"I've never met that woman before in my life."

The thought makes me laugh a little. She's getting back to her cheery self now that Chris is awake and that brings me much needed relief. Who would have thought Chris was so damn important?

He sure of hell didn't before all this.

"Sorry about being such an ass on the phone."

I look down, pulling my hair back to keep it out of my eyes.

"Hey, speaking of which, what's with the crappy lie? How long have you really been in town?"

The question slaps me in the face and my eyes grow wide with shock. I saw it coming, sure, but not this freaking soon.

"Uh… it's a long story and I'll tell you over dinner."

"Oh, you need me to come with you guys, huh? You know, I would've appreciated a day to myself after all this."

She's pouting now, her arms cross in front of her chest as she leans heavily on one leg away from me. She fills the little sister role perfectly right now and I want so badly to call her out on it, but she has a good point. I don't' doubt that she's stressed from all this and a day to herself could help her calm down further.

I know I shouldn't agree to take Chris out to dinner by myself. All alone. Just the two of us. It's the second stupidest damn idea I've agreed to and I can feel trouble. I can't say no to her, though. I can't let her think everything is her problem. I have to take responsibility for my actions.

"Damn. You're more of a baby than I'd thought. Need me to fetch you a pacifier from the nursery down stairs?"

She smiles at me and puts her hands on her hips.

"Thanks for being such a doll, doll."

Patting me on the shoulder and nearly skipping away, she leaves me in front of Chris' hospital door. She's worse than Ada when it comes to manipulation, I swear.

I contemplate just skipping town and never hearing from these two again.

"Hey, uh… change of plans," I call to Chris as I walk back into his room. "I'm starving. Let's get some steak."

Chris' face looks questioning at first but then smooths into a small.

"Don't tell Red," he says with joking caution.

Red? He means Claire? I've never heard him say that before, but this new Chris is a little different.

"You letting your little sister call all the shots, man?"

I notice a pair of blue jeans laying at the table at the end of his bed and pick them up to throw at him. There is a small rip in the left thigh that makes me think Claire did some shopping while he was out. Thinking about it more, she would have had to with how much his body has changed.

He catches the pants and huffs humorously at me.

"I let her think she has complete control over me, but one of these days, I'll high tail it out of here."

"Either that or she's letting you think she thinks you have all this under control," I throw back at him before turning around so he can change.

I feel his hesitation from across the room and I almost start to excuse myself before I hear the rustle of his jeans against the floor. I close my eyes in case I somehow find my body turning around to look.

"Okay, I'm good to go."

I turn around to see he also slipped on a red t-shirt. A symbol of a yellow bird is printed on his chest and it looks faded despite being new. Claire has one hell of a fashion sense, I have to give her that. Chris looks good and it makes me want to punch him.

"Sweet. There's a decent steak house a couple blocks from here. Do you think you can walk that far?"

I honestly don't know how much Chris can do after the lack of movement he's experienced. I could call another taxi, sure, but something gives me the feeling that he'd rather enjoy the fresh city air and stretch his legs.

He smiles at my question and I know I've guessed right.

The sidewalk is covered with people. Many faces I don't know, yet some look familiar. Probably from my continued back and forth between my hotel room and the hospital. Mostly couples pass by us, arms wrapped around each other as they walk. It makes me feel a little weird to be next to Chris, but he seems overly content to be outside. He keeps looking at all the flowers we pass by.

"You looking for your brain in the bushes or something, pal?" I crack a joke at him to try and ease my own mind. It makes him laugh, so score for me.

"I don't think I lost it in the bushes. Maybe under my hospital bed."

He smile as I look away. He doesn't make this awkward. I know it's me.

"Are you alright?" He asks me with deepening concern in his voice. The inflection is light and I wonder if he means to ask it at all.

I look over at him again as we continue to walk. My hands are stuffed in my jacket pocket but my fingers are still fidgeting with nerves. I want to tell him that I'm nervous. I want to confess some things I've had on my mind for a long time now, but I know he has to figure his own shit out before I can bother him with my baggage.

I know he'd be mad if he found out, too, so I'm struggling here.

"You had us worried there for a second," I say at first, but I know it's colored by my lack of confidence. "Me. You had me worried."

Chris looks like he wants to hug me for a second and my heart stops.

"I'm sorry. I promise not to swan dive off water's edge next time. I'll bring a parachute instead."

I want to reply to him with a sarcastic remark or something that'll make him laugh, but we reach the steak house too soon. I open the door for him and hope that he'll let me drop it.

He does. Classic Chris.

"Thanks," he says without mentioning the topic.

When we sit at the table I can tell he feels a little out of place. He looks down at his outfit and then up at mine. One corner of his mouth is slightly upturned in an awkward smile and I shake my head.

"Don't sweat it, Redfield. The ladies won't mind your lack of attire."

I jab my thumb behind me to a table of young girls I saw before sitting down. They were all huddle up to some guy with dark glasses and slicked back blonde hair. What kind of guy wears sun glasses in doors?

Assholes.

He nods and visibly lets the worry go. His face lightens a little more and he picks up the menu without hesitation. I look down at my own menu even though I know exactly what we'd order if we were set back a few months ago. He loves medium rare stake with stake fries smothered in ketchup. I prefer well done with greens. The big oaf used to tell me that's why I'm so skinny. Because I eat vegetables.

Well, I'm not a freaking carnivore, Chris, so get over it, I'd tell him. We'd laugh and order the same old shit anyway.

"Hey. Why do you call me Redfield?"

His eyes are peeking out from atop the menu as I look up.

"Wow, Claire really does leave you on a need-to-know basis, doesn't she?"

He glares at me and sets the menu on the table.

"I know that's my last name, jerk."

"Well, there you go, asshole."

We break into another comfortable smile and I lean back in my chair.

"Get the medium rare steak with steak fries and a shit ton of ketchup. Trust me."

"I do."

The waitress doesn't come for a long while and the moment sits between us heavily like a soft blanket on a cold night. We still aren't talking much, though that isn't all that weird for us. Instead, we are exchanging words through our eyes.

It sounds freaking cheesy, I know, but it's what we do.

When the waitress finally does show up, I tell her both our orders through habit. I look at Chris to see if he agrees and he gives me a quick nod. The waitress excuses herself with the promise of drinks when she returns.

"So, I'm a Pepsi guy, huh?"

"I know, it's shit taste. But I couldn't change your mind after ten years, so I gave up trying."

I'm fully teasing him now without thinking about the words before I vomit them up. Fortunately for me, he's laughed or smiled at almost everything I've thrown at him so far.

"I sound like a stubborn guy," he says sheepishly.

"Nah. You just know what you like. You're a good guy, promise."

"I wish I could remember more." The confession makes me frown and I know he can sense I wish he could remember, too. He has a look in his eye that makes my heart speed up before he speaks again. "I wish I could remember more of you."

I clear my throat and look down at my set of neatly wrapped silverware. I'm not sure what to say to him and I don't want to mess up the good time we're having, but I know I have to say something. The truth sounds better than any lie I can come up with, so I look up at him again and smile.

"Yeah. I missed you."

Idiot.

The look he gives me next breaks my heart and repairs it all in the same fluid motion. His green eyes are slightly lidded, and there is a genuine, warm smile on his face that forms perfectly with the stubble around his mouth. His body is still at ease as he leans over the table, closer to me. I have the sense that he wants me to lean in, too, to kiss him or touch him in some way, but I keep myself in place. I smile to let him know I feel the same way and I hope that he brushes it off as some kind of PDA insecurity or something.

But my foot, on the other hand… my freaking brainless ass foot—as if it had a brain, I know—inches toward him. Our boots bump against each other like our fingertips did earlier and it makes both us sigh.

He wants to ask me a question. _The_ question. I see it in his searching eyes, but I shake my head. The waiter makes an appearance as if scripted and I breathe another sigh of relief.

"Your food will be out shortly. Anything I can grab you in the meantime?" she asks.

I think about asking her to steal me away to the kitchen and chop my head off with a giant machete. I decide to just shake my head and give her a considerate smile.

The rest of the meal is less heavy hitting. Thank god. I don't think I could've skirted around anymore incidents like that for much longer. Instead, I ask him about the flowers Claire mentioned and his face gets a little red. At first it looks like he won't talk about it, but then he eventually clears his throat and sets down his fork and knife.

"When I woke up fully the first time, I imagined blue flowers. It's like they were right there in front of me," he began, looking at me as if I'd tell him to shut up or something. "I asked Claire she knew anything about it. She eventually got into contact with… uh, I can't remember her name, but she was really upbeat and friendly."

He continued to tell me about this younger chick who knew a lot about flowers and their effects, or something. I'm not sure. I kind of lost it when he mentioned how clingy she was. He mentioned she seemed like a good friend of his, like they had been through something really rough together, and it made me pissed.

I am jealous and I know I'm jealous, but damn it, Chris.

"Anyway, they are called Forget Me Not flowers. I found it kind of fitting that I'd remembered them, so I kind of started obsessing over them a little."

He scratches his head with embarrassment and I fight the urge to nudge my foot into his again.

"I guess it's something that's kept me busy. So I don't have to keep worrying over stuff I can't change."

"That's good. To have something like that to focus on, I mean."

He agrees with me and starts to loosen up again. I think he gets the feeling he can tell me anything and the worst I'll do is crack a crappy joke.

"They remind me of your eyes, honestly. Not to sound weird, or anything, but I swear I was seeing them when I first saw you."

He covers his face with one of his hands and I close my eyes as a smile, embarrassed myself. I can't help but chuckle affectionately at him and that gains me a chuckle in return.

If he only knew. If I could only tell him.

But I don't want to tell him and the selfish part of me relishes in the fact that I can't tell him. I'm such a freaking idiot. I'm exploiting my best friend's memory loss to get close to him and it's making me disgusted with myself. But I can't stop myself.

I don't ever want this to stop.


End file.
